Shadows of the Moonbeam
by Deep Color
Summary: I am a doll, smiling through the night, knowing full well that no eye was watching. I am a doll, smiling in the day, knowing much more that people were watching. I am the doll that has one face, but that which casts many different shadows in the dark.
1. Author's Notes

**Shadows of the Moonbeam**  
By Deep Color

Author's Notes:

DISCLAIMER: Yami no Matsuei names, characters belong to Matsushita Yoko and Hana to Yume publications. This story was created for no monetary claims.  
CLAIMER: Story is intellectual property, copyrighted to Deep Color. Unpermitted distribution and any form of plagiarism is punishable in hell. \o/

This piece was a little take I did on Muraki, with a metaphor-theme in mind. Somehow, I couldn't seem to bring Tsuzuki or any other character to match my metaphors, so I ended up writing Sensei. Later in 2005, this piece was entered in a local fan fiction writing contest and snagged the top award for the category Yami no Matsuei>Poetry/Drama/Angst. I'm proud to say I didn't involve romance in the writing of this fic this time. :D First contest! First award! Yay!

Please read and review -- this is the edited version of Shadows of the Moonbeam, and I'm a little wary with my editing. I think I ended up doing more harm than good. XD Click on the next chapter to read.

_Deep Color_


	2. Shadows of the Moonbeam

**Shadows of the Moonbeam**  
By Deep Color

---

I look up at the gray clouds that breathe fire and smoke from the heavens.

I hurry to find shelter as soon as possible. Schoolgirls scurry by me to do the same, completely ignorant of the melancholy behind a man's innocent smile. When someone's world has stopped turning, others' seem to spin twice the usual pacing, fleeting by in a whirl of _color_ and _blur_… it is never possible to tell them apart.

The first drops of rainfall hit the ground lightly as it does my ashen clothing, producing a melody as beautiful as darkness itself. The sky roars mighty havoc upon all its descendants—the little ants bustling about the skyscrapers—and sheds a fountain of tears it has been suppressing all the while…

It is tonight.

It is this night that the heavens shall abandon me for all eternity—if that even has not been done yet. The crimson stain on my porcelain hands cannot be washed out by a hundred lifetimes, and what wickedness there is still left in me is undetermined, even by me. I will never have enough inanity in my goddamned soul to abandon this instinctive passion for scarlet and flesh.

**.:--:.**

_Tonight, the moon will shine brighter and redder than ever…_

As the rain washes the city of its impurities, I remain the same. A heretic. Did God ever have eyes for a piece of creation so feeble? Sometimes I think that this lifetime is just payment for the greater crimes I have done in past ones. Maybe I am the same soul as Cain was. Perhaps it is all part of His divine plan. I will never know. No one will.

I laugh at my own thoughts. _Why would such a sinner even cross the mind of the Holy? _I, for one, know that my enormity is up to par with the devil… or perhaps even greater.

**.:--:.**

_Tonight, by the light of the rubicund moon, a lamb will be sacrificed. My ritual._

Sometimes, I condemn and blame everything on my spirit, for it possesses so much power that I would not know how to control it, if not for the time given to me. But it is not unusual. It isn't, because only the weak would agree. It isn't for the incarnation of a _doll _as unbreakable as… me.

I am a doll in manners that concern my appearance… for the things that bring condemnation to innocent flesh. For the things beyond my power, but those well within their control.

I am a doll, smiling through the night, knowing full well that no eye was watching. I am a doll, smiling in the day, knowing much more that people were watching. I am the doll that has one face, but that which casts many different shadows in the dark.

And I am not the doll to be played with, as nothing is beyond my power if I will it. My inhuman faculties do not permit me to let anything go beyond myself. I am the doll that _plays_.

That is why I see Death in the form of… phantoms disguised as humans. They are drawn to me in the same way I am drawn to them, a mutual exchange of spite evident in the course of our lives. Dead or alive.

_Shinigami._

The word is music, with the literal meaning of "God of Death". How nice it would be, to be the god that ruled over the dreaded course of death. To put the candles out one by one, every single day… I am surprised that the one God of Death does not favor me for all the annihilations I have done to help him with his work…

I am an angel, with the soul of the devil that humans so fear... And yet I have the insatiable power to draw anyone into my sphere of influence. In the blink of an eye.

I am an angel, blessed with the gift of wings. Wings that do not know how to fly. Wings severely injured that they cannot even move. This inability does not even hinder me or my plans or my power. I am unstoppable.

I am an angel, whose ethereal existence does not account for anything worthy to those not of my kind. For all the things I do, no one will ever have an explanation.

**.:--:.**

_The beauty of all this phenomena is inexplicable._

Carrying the nearly dead body of this beautiful young boy signals the end of the night, for I will have to turn my left cheek from the rising sun once more.

His green eyes remained open to stare blindly at me. Ignorance. I believe it's called ignorance… when some foolish boy thinks all his worldly suffering merits him the title of maturity. A boy will be a boy, and nothing more.

Been there and done that, mind you.

But now, boy, I'll have you know that you are lucky. You remind me of a certain pale-skinned and pasty-haired boy I used to know. The one who loved pretty dolls just like you. So I'll have you dressed in red scars just like mine, except that yours would bear a curse.

A curse that marks you as my possession. _My Doll_. Forever.

I put down a gentle kiss on his forehead. Not so much a gesture of affection, but more out of habit than anything else. His eyes are beautiful. He is beautiful. With a wave of my hand, I close his eyes, granting him the clemency I never offered to anyone else before.

The beauty… This beauty that is obtained by a good few and yet brutally sought after by millions… will it ever find solace?

Will it ever find solace in the shadows where the beautiful lie in distant wait? Maybe… Perhaps… no–-_probably_… Probably it will, for all the contamination rests outside, in the bright, where everything is ironic. Just like this.

But like always, I will have to keep all beauty hidden behind the forsaken shadows, lest the light of the moon betrays it.

--End---

This turned out pretty badly halfway through. I'm sorry. But I'd love a comment or two. Scooby Snacks to people who understand the silly metaphors. –Deep Color


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